Where the Scorned Play
by R Hancock
Summary: A lonesome stranger walks down a desolate road. Surrounded by nuclear desert, she sets upon a quiet town, barely standing. Looking for a place to settle, will she find what she's looking for in this broken place? (SHORT STORY, POSSIBLE MINI-NOVEL. ALL CRITICISM WELCOME. PLEASE READ AND RATE/REVIEW).


I do not own Fallout. This is simply a Fallout fan fiction set inside the Fallout universe. All copyrights and trademarks belong to Bethesda Game Studios and the creators of Fallout and the Fallout universe... thankfully.

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 **Where the Scorned Play**

 _Written by R. Hancock_

Like a testament to the old world, surrounded on all sides by a reminding glance at the destruction humanity had caused, stood a quaint town. Amidst the overwhelming smolders of destructive chaos around it, it was steadfast, and unmoved, almost innocent. Its existence was a simple truth that one couldn't describe with words. To many it was an indubitable truth that perseverance wasn't lost, but rewarded in full. To others it was sinister; a mirage or a devious fallacy that only existed in one's mind.

Sporadic sections of deteriorating, white picket fence lined the perimeter of the only remaining three houses on the entire square block. On the corner, beside these solemn, surviving structures, stood a tall, red structure, with the top coming to a point in the shape of a rocket ship. Its color was fading, damaged from years of exposure to magnified ultraviolet rays. These four enduring structures lay besieged by a sea of burned rubble, the debris and remnants of what used to be a suburban neighborhood. The rusted out skeletons of pre-war vehicles lay dormant on random street corners, accompanied by the occasional tricycle or children's scooter. The ground was burned – where grass once lay was now scorched dirt, still hot to the touch from the beating son. The streets, once paved to a perfect balance, were broken indefinitely by massive cracks through the crumbling pavement.

This place was lifeless, yet somehow alive. Seemingly clinging desperately to its last breaths, yet consistently surviving another day.

††††

"What brings you this far south, stranger?" The man spoke with a casual dominance. "Name's Bill Wilson. My family and I, along with the Smiths, run this place. Don't get many like yourself through here unless they're on their way to the Library, the Nuka plant, the RobCo. Plant, or Tenpenny Tower. Which one is it, then?"

Something about the way he spoke was assertive, but oddly welcoming. His hair was parted neatly to the sides down the middle, a deep, slick blonde that almost matched his tarnished sweater. His face was dirty, excusably, and his clothes were worse.

"Nothing in particular. I didn't really have a destination in mind," she retorted, "I'm just trying to find a place where I fit in." The woman was notably dirty herself; excusable. Washing clothes wasn't a luxury many shared this day and age. Her hair was greasy and matted, stuck together at the ends. It was a subtle brown, hinted blonde and fading from the desert sun. She wore a jumpsuit with the bright, yellow numbers _100_ sewn elegantly into the back side of the blue material that made up the torso.

"You ever heard of Andale before, little lady?" the man inquired, the tone in his voice a virtuous one.

"Not before now," she replied with a giggle, "It's a nice place, though, or what is left of it, anyway."

She wasn't sure if she was being disrespectful. She certainly meant what she said – she appreciated the subtle reminders of the world before the apocalypse. The picket fences, even after years of formidable weathering; the collapsing structures, strewn wildly about like a forest of death; all of it was a glaring beckon to honor the past and to embrace the future.

"We're a close-knit people here, in Andale. We do what we must to survive and we cover our own backs. Have you met the Smiths?" he asked, the expression on his pale face changing from a concerned to a relaxed demeanor. As he spoke the lines in his face never moved. They remained still.

"The only person I've seen around here is you," she snapped, almost frustrated that the streets were so desolate.

Everywhere she went, even the most populated places, nowadays, were empty. She was growing increasingly tired of a perpetual emptiness everywhere she went. Places that once held the most outright signs of life and preservation, now simple memories of a day long passed.

"Well, I'm not sure if you're up to it, but you're welcome to stay. We have dinner as a family every night here in Andale, around the time the sun begins to set. We're one big family, here," he implied while running his greasy hand through the furrow of his hair. The man was gesturing to one of the two remaining houses now, both identical in appearance, and standing directly across the street from one another.

"Please, come, meet my wife and daughter. I'm sure the Smiths would like to meet you, too!" He began making obligatory strides toward the charred, wooden door of what was apparently his domain.

She followed behind him thoughtlessly, moving in sync beside the man into his home. As they moved through the front door she was met by the prevalent dust floating idly in the air. She choked back a cough as they entered the living room.

The word "Daddy!" echoed from the upstairs hallway, followed by the thuds of small feet pounding eagerly on the creaking wooden floor. Down the stairs ran a vibrant little girl, covered head to toe in tattered garments as to be expected, with a look of anticipation plastered on her young, joyous face.

"I missed you so much, Daddy!" she exclaimed, running into her father's opened arms as she reached the base of the aging stairs.

"I missed you too, Jenny," he assured her, squeezing her tightly into his breast. "We have company. Where is your mother?"

"She's in the kitchen, Daddy! Want me to get her for you?" she insisted, already almost half way through the kitchen door. She returned, pulling her inherently annoyed looking mother behind her, in a fraction of a moment.

"You're back, and you brought a guest," she remarked, her dull, careless face almost as empty as the words she spoke.

"Honey, this is… I don't think I got your name," Bill stated, curiously putting a hand under the cleft of his chin.

"Oh, right. I don't have a name," the stranger quipped, unimpressed with their desire to refer to her by name. "I guess you can call me Blue."

"Blue?" the man quizzed, interested by the derivation of name.

"It's my favorite color," she riposted, an answer clearly lacking any thought or obvious care. The man seemed unenthused with her lackadaisical answer.

"Well… Blue, this is my family. My beautiful wife Martha and my lovely daughter Jenny," Bill said in a righteous manner, arm outstretched to indicate each person as they were introduced. Martha had soft, red hair, and was dressed in a casual, beige pant-suit. Tinted glasses covered her beady eyes and masked her cold stare. Jenny was small, but glowing. She wore a pink Sunday gown, the buttons hanging drearily from their thread. The color of her deep blonde hair was a striking indicator of her father.

"Should we move on to the Smiths?" Bill suggested.

The stranger shrugged, muttering a bored approval, as Bill turned hastily back toward the front door of his home. The two walked across the street, again side by side, as the sun began to slowly sink toward the west.

The stranger was growing noticeably disinterested in the place. What she was seeking was much more than a few rotting picket fences and mementos of the past – while they were certainly enticing at first, it wasn't enough to keep her settled for a period of time. She was concerned, more or less, with offending the residents here. A simple tour wasn't too much to ask, and these people probably didn't get to do so often. The roads leading to and from this place were all deserted, empty, cement trails that appeared to move endlessly through an infinite concrete desert.

They pushed through the second of the two wooden, brown doors, this time at the home across the street, and moved into an identical front room. The wooden stairs, the kitchen door, everything the same as the last home; the wallpaper, the floor, all of it an exact replica to the house prior. They were greeted by a burly man, bald, with a goatee of white fur that surrounded his cracked lips. His red, flannel, button shirt hung sloppily from his broad shoulders.

"Who is this, Bill?" he wondered, eyes fixed generously on the stranger entering his home.

"She's passing through, looking for a place to settle. I'm giving her a tour, and figured she might stay for dinner," Bill explained, gaze switching between the man and woman before him.

"In that case, you should meet my kin," Jack snorted, turning his head toward the lifeless kitchen door. "Linda! Junior! We have a guest!"

Without a moment's notice, the kitchen door burst open, with a dainty woman floating happily through the discolored door, holding up the sides of her rose pink sundress as she inched closer to the two men and the women. Down the stairs, again, came running a young child, but this time a boy. On his head was a bright red baseball cap that sat loosely on his ears.

"This is my darling wife, Linda, and our son, Junior." Jack interjected, breaking a small minute of conjoined silence.

"It's very nice to meet all of you, really," proclaimed the stranger, turning her head to take a momentary glance at the front door before returning her vision towards the group of congregated individuals in the dusty front room. "It's getting late, and dark, and I think I should be moving on now."

"Nonsense!" Bill cried, motioning his hands towards the decrepit kitchen door. "We haven't eaten dinner, yet!"

"...And I would normally stay, but I should be leaving before night falls. I certainly can't stay the night here," she contended, eyes maintained on the front door now.

"Truly, what a shame. We were going to have our famous meat pie, tonight. We are known in Andale for our meat pies. Oh well, then. Safe travels." Bill concluded demandingly, gliding towards the front door and almost shoving the stranger through it. The door slammed behind her, and incessant mumbling was muffled through the peeling surface of the thick, wooden door.

These people were odd. Even after spending her last six months wandering a forgotten world among a populous of different, unique, and downright weird individuals, these were the first that struck her as so insatiably odd. She was ready to go, dismissing the afternoon entirely. She looked around, again scanning the various blocks of fallen homes and stripped cars, this time noticing a small shed behind the home of the Wilson's. Her curiosity was peaking.

She darted her cautious eyes at each of the homes, analyzing the exterior for any signs of life from within. Nothing.

Seizing the moment, she slowly crept along the sidewalk adjacent to the two homes, crossing the street and sneaking her way around the side of the Wilson's house. Ducking underneath windows and stealthily maneuvering around doors, she arrived undiscovered at the meager, wooden door of the backyard shed. She tugged at the doors, and to her surprise, they opened. As she peeled the groaning, wooden doors back, she began to realize the scene that was before her.

Bodies, stripped clean of their skin and disemboweled almost professionally, hung aimlessly from meat hooks, slowly turning in the wind with the draft that managed to make its way under the rotting shed doors. Bowls and jars of unattached appendages and organs were strewn carelessly atop of a metal work bench in the center of the room. Beside the bench stood a metallic, hospital stretcher, holding the motionless corpse of a man, eyes removed from his head. Blood painted everything, like an exquisite coat of deep red burgundy. The room smelled like rotting flesh and burnt skin, almost forcing the stranger to vomit the minute the smell assaulted her nostrils.

A loud thump, followed by a sharp pain, and the stranger falls to the floor in a tangled heap.

"Just in time for dinner. Tonight, we're having... Blue," Bill grinned, lowering a bloodied meat hammer to his side.

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This is not my first fan fiction, nor my first time writing, but this is the first time I'll have posted one of my works on this website. Most of my fan fics are Fallout related, but I've done other works inside of the Destiny universe and The Elder Scrolls universe. Please, rate and review. All feedback is welcomed and appreciated. I can only become better by recognizing my flaws. I have a fan fic novel that's about two chapters of its way done. I'll most likely be posting it upon completion, one chapter at a time, however I'd like to get a feel for this community and how it responds to my style of writing before doing so.

This is a two thousand word short story that I wrote in a few hours while sitting lazily on a slow day at work. I love Fallout and I love its universe, and most of my fan fics will revolve around it as such. I am a guy, however most of my characters are usually female. I'm not really into writing smut, but I've been told that I'm good for it, so I may consider adding some into my future works. I would also like feedback on whether or not I should continue this story. As we leave it now, our main character, Blue, or the stranger, is in a perilous situation. This does not mean she cannot overcome the situation at hand. If I get enough positive reviews and feedback asking for it, I will continue this story into a short, mini-novel, with this being the first chapter.

Thanks, R. Hancock


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